Cold as Hell
by Meridian31
Summary: "Is it just me or is it cold as hell in here?" / Drabble. One-Shot.


Moving was hectic, no matter which way you looked at it. Packing up everything from one place, the physical act of actually moving it, only to unpack it all again…it was exhausting every time. While you had done it enough in your life to have a bit of a method to the madness, that didn't really make it too much easier.

Especially not when this particular move also included combining your items with your boyfriend's. It had taken weeks to go through your apartment and his, deciding what would be brought to the new house you were sharing, and what wouldn't. The process was slowed down even more by the fact that your boyfriend traveled regularly, while you stayed home as a middle school English teacher.

To his credit, Antonio did awesome while he was in town. He was, not surprisingly to most, the far more organized of the two of you. He had lists, he had plans, and he definitely had motivation. If it wasn't for him, you knew you wouldn't have half the furniture you now had in the new house around you.

When it was officially moving day, he was the one giving out directions to your friends, and making sure boxes were near the right places to be unpacked in the future. He helped move the heavy items, put together the bed, and give you both a space you could live comfortably in until it was fully finished.

It was now two weeks since the big move, and the house was still in a good amount of disarray. A lot of the rooms were seventy to eighty percent unpacked, but definitely not more. Nothing was hung on the walls yet; pictures and artwork just leaning against the places they'd eventually be. You felt like nothing was getting accomplished, even though you knew logically a lot had been. You were just ready for it all to be done, for your home to be settled and complete.

You found yourself standing in the living room, Antonio thankfully with you today, as you decided to tackle finishing the kitchen. The essentials had been brought out when you first moved in, but as an avid cooker and baker, a lot of your specialty items had not been. You'd had no cause to use them lately either, living off of basic, easy to make food, or takeout.

"Is it just me, or is it cold as hell in here?" you asked, pulling your sweater tighter around yourself, so the front overlapped, as you stood in the living room.

"…well, considering hell isn't cold…no, it's not," Antonio replied, causing your head to turn quickly in his direction, allowing you to glare straight at him.

"I was using 'as hell' as a descriptor, to aid in explaining the amount of cold that I am feeling," you explained coolly.

"No need to go complete English major on me," he muttered, picking up a box, before walking in to the kitchen area with it. He set it on the counter, causing the items in it to rattle.

"You were being a smartass," you pointed out, your voice louder so it carried to him in the other room.

"And you are being cranky," he countered, walking out of the kitchen and over to where you were still standing. Stopping in front of you, he slid both of his arms around your waist to your back, where he linked his hands, before pulling you so your bodies were lightly pressed together. "What's up?"

"Nothing," you answered, setting your hands on his upper arms, leaning back enough in his hold so you could look up at his face.

"Tell me," he demanded gently, applying slight pressure to your back with his hands as a means to cajole a response of you.

"…it's just a lot," you admitted.

"What is?"

"THIS," you declared. "Moving, and stuff. And I only get to have you so often to help, so it falls on me. Which, I'm not saying I don't understand, I do. Obviously I know you're gone, it's fine. But I just…I feel like it's taking forever, and I'm losing my mind in an unpacked, unorganized house."

"It does take time," he agreed. "But even if I was here more, it would still take time."

"Not as much," you argued.

"How do you know?" Antonio questioned. "We both know I get distracted easily." You rolled your eyes, doing your best to suppress a smile, which in turn caused him to chuckle. " _C'mon_. Don't stress yourself out. I know it's a lot, and I know it's going to bother you that the house is not put together right away, but that's not how moving works anyways."

"I know," you sighed.

"We will just, do what we can now, while I'm here. And then while I'm gone, you do whatever you want to, but don't force yourself to do everything, OK? It's not going to bother me any to come home and find all these boxes still in here," he said.

"It's going to bother _me_."

"Well, that I cannot help you with," Antonio stated. "But I'm sure a lot of wine can."

You laughed outright, before leaning your head forward to rest against his chest, closing your eyes as you breathed in. He tightened his arms around you, kissing the side of your head, before setting his cheek there.

"I love you, sweetheart. And I promise, it will all work itself out."

"OK," you conceded.

The two of you stood in the silence, letting the moment settle around you. You knew he was right; it was just going to take time for your house to come together. In the interim, you would just have to deal with it, and do what you could on your own.

"Hey, want to go break in the new couch downstairs?" Rolling your eyes to yourself, you leaned back in his hold, causing him to lift his head from yours. He looked down at you, amusement swimming in his eyes.

"And how is that going to help me with being stressed over things not being unpacked?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Consider it an alternative stress relief method," he offered, grinning. You looked at him blankly for a moment, appearing as though you were annoyed, before you let a smile come to your face.

"Let's go."


End file.
